


In the Night

by Casablanca



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monchelotte, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casablanca/pseuds/Casablanca
Summary: She creeps through the dark passage connecting their rooms.  It is designed to discreetly deliver a husband to a wife, and Liselotte cannot ignore the irony as her fingers knock through a cobweb.There’s a crack of light from Phillipe’s bedroom on the bare stone wall, and Liselotte hesitates.  Her resolve wavers somewhat as she draws closer, and she fumbles through her mind for an appropriate excuse for turning up unannounced.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m currently unsure where to take it - whether to turn it into filth, or keep it platonic. We’ll see. Rating and tags may change as appropriate.
> 
> There is an S3 spoiler in here, but fairly minor (it’s literally in the first sentence). I’m also ignoring the fact that baby Phillipe is her second child with Monsieur (I'm actually ignoring most of S3 too, but that's another matter). 
> 
> It’s started sadder than planned, but hey. Let’s roll with it.

The first couple of nights after little Phillipe left the palace were fitful, but Liselotte slept mostly untroubled. She resolved that Monsieur would speak to the King and he would be returned to her. Denial kept her warm and peaceful at night, but as the separation stretched into a week she found her hope fading. Her room was silent and her bed empty, even the absence of the nursemaid troubled her. She was no stranger to being alone in the marital bed, of course, but back then the treasured baby within her had at least been her constant companion.

The reality was she had consoled herself with little Phillipe. For a brief, shining moment he had been something that was truly hers, and often in the dark of night she had found herself by his basket. 

The nursemaid’s initial confusion had turned to disinterest, and she would merely roll herself over in her cot and return to sleep, ignoring Liselotte and her nighttime ritual. She had been told the Princess was unlike most of the court, but she had not expected her new mistress to hold such a deep obsession for her infant. 

Liselotte was careful to never wake him, though she sometimes couldn’t help but trace her fingertips over the soft, round cheeks. Usually she just watched him and toyed with the hem of his blankets, the smell of him stirring something deep inside of her.

But now he was gone, and there was another woman in her place. Liselotte wished she had been wise enough to keep one of his blankets, just so she could smell him. She could weep at the thought of the nursemaid having the privilege of knowing the smell of the soft, downy hair on his crown. She had nurtured so many babies that surely he meant nothing to her. Like the hunt master with just another dog he has trained. 

These thoughts kept her awake, and when she slept she dreamed of searching through endless hallways of a labyrinth. Her baby was here, she knew, but she could never find him.

On the third night Liselotte considered going to her husband, it was hard not to dub him ‘big Phillipe’, but something kept her balled up her in her own sheets. 

\--

In the salon the next morning she found herself losing at cards, almost without realising.

‘Not cheating today, my dear?’ The Chevalier’s tone is light, but when Liselotte turns her face to him the expression she finds is guarded. She feels the pressure of his foot nudging her own beneath the table. ‘Are you quite well?’ 

‘Just tired, that’s all.’ She lays her cards flat on the table and offers a wan smile, which she hopes is more convincing than it feels. ‘How else could you manage to win?’

He watches her for a moment, and Liselotte collects her cards and ignores his gaze until he goes back to their game. His foot remains by hers, and she feels strangely reassured by the weight of his calf against her skirts. Concentrating, she makes a silent vow to cheat as outrageously as possible.

\--

Liselotte lies awake again that night, rolling the silver baby rattle between her thumb and forefinger as she stares up at the darkness. She is certain that this would be easier if there was somebody here and she longs for Sophie, and for her aunt, who is so very far away. 

Throwing the covers back she resolves that tonight she will go to her husband. Phillipe is right that another baby would not ease her pain, but currently all she longs for is the sound of another heartbeat under her cheek. 

She creeps through the dark passage connecting their rooms. It is designed to discreetly deliver a husband to a wife, and Liselotte cannot ignore the irony as her fingers knock through a cobweb. 

There’s a crack of light from Phillipe’s bedroom on the bare stone wall, and Liselotte hesitates. Her resolve wavers somewhat as she draws closer, and she fumbles through her mind for an appropriate excuse for turning up unannounced. 

She’s at the hidden doorway when she hears it, the murmur of a laboured breath, and the first instinct is to turn and flee. The light is tempting, though, and it beckons her in. Creeping closer she presses her face to the wood and peers as best she can. The shape of her husband is unmistakable in the dim candlelight. He is knelt over the Chevalier, his legs astride his face and hands gripped into the headboard. The movement of his hips into the face beneath him leaves little to Liselotte’s imagination, but the movement of the Chevalier’s hand draws her eye. Fingers, she cannot tell how many, are twisted inside of her husband and Liselotte backs up with such speed she bumps into the wall behind her. 

This night she spends writing letters, long missives that she will probably never send and that is how her ladies find her in the morning. She is bathed and dressed without comment, requesting her hunting habit as she feels the need to get outside. When she returns to her bedroom to retrieve her gloves she finds her bed neatly made. Her son’s rattle has been carefully placed on the centre of her pillow and the tears rush forward like a wave. Liselotte’s ladies send for Monsieur before she can stop them, but the King takes precedence as always, and so it is the Chevalier who comes to her rooms and finds her, still sniffling on a day bed.

The Chevalier is quiet and sympathetic as he sits beside her. He coaxes her down to rest her head against his thigh and his fingers are soft in Liselotte’s hair as she spills her woes, and her tears, into the patterned fabric of his breeches. She marvels, sometimes, at their transformation. Of how she cannot imagine a life without him in it. 

That is how Phillipe finds them a short while later, released by his brother, and he squeezes into the space left. His hand is warm on Liselotte’s ankle and there is a genuine concern in his expression.

‘She isn’t sleeping, four nights now.’ Speaking over her head the Chevalier is her voice, and she allows him to explain for her. The hand on her ankle has started rubbing small circles with a thumb, and she feels a sense of peace for the first time in days. 

\--

It is only when a grape bounces against her hair some time later that she awakes, with some mortification, with her face still pressed against the Chevalier’s thigh. 

‘You’ve returned to us, then.’ Her husband is smiling and clutching a handful of grapes, which he has apparently been attempting to toss into the Chevalier’s mouth. Liselotte laughs despite herself, retrieving the rogue grape from the folds of her skirt she throws it back and almost feels like herself.

\--

As much as the companionship of the Chevalier, and latterly Phillipe, soften the daytime, Liselotte still finds herself desperately alone during the night. She manages the following night on her own, but Phillipe comments on the darkness under the eyes the next afternoon. ‘I am here for you, you know. You know where I am if you need anything.’

The words linger in her head as she lies in the darkness. Liselotte wonders if ‘anything’ covers creeping into his room like a child suffering from a nightmare. It’s later than her previous attempt, and she soon finds herself back in the passageway. 

There is no crack of light against the wall this time, and the room is silent. Liselotte musters her courage as she creeps in and ignores the damp smell of sex that greets her. The Chevalier is closest to her, on his stomach in the middle of the bed with his face buried into a pillow. His lover wrapped around him. 

Liselotte fidgets and then clears her throat, repeating it louder when there is no response. Phillipe stirs first and he peers at her, leaning up on one elbow.

‘Liselotte? Are you alright?’ His voice is soft, but loud enough to rouse the Chevalier who looks at her with an equally sleepy expression. She wonders if she has made a mistake, and when she attempts to apologise she finds her voice breaking.

‘Well I,’ There’s a traitorous wobble in her voice. ‘I just wondered,’ She pauses, and there’s an undignified sniffle that seems loud in the darkness. Soon the Chevalier is on his feet and he’s beckoning her closer with an outstretched hand.

‘Come on, in you get.’ Liselotte is suddenly aware that he’s utterly naked, and she obstinately stares at the sheets as she takes his proffered hand and allows herself to be guided into the bed beside her husband. Who is also naked. Absurdly, she feels like she’s intruding. Phillipe’s expression is unreadable but he’s warm and doesn’t flinch when she bumps against him, wiggling her way to the centre of the bed.

The covers are tugged up over her, and she watches as the Chevalier collects a dressing gown from where it has been abandoned over a chair. It’s only when he’s wrapped it around himself that she speaks: ‘Where are you going?’ 

It’s a stupid question, it’s abundantly clear he’s making an escape, but Liselotte asks anyway. His fingers pause in the knot they’re tying at his waist, and the Chevalier blinks at her stupidly, gesturing to the door with his free hand. ‘Oh, I was just.. you know. Going elsewhere.’ 

‘Don’t leave on my account.’

The room is silent and Liselotte’s heart trembles in her chest. She feels like she just stepped over a line that shouldn’t even exist, but honestly, the protocol around getting into bed with your husband and his lover was not something covered in her childhood education. Eventually Phillipe leans over her to pull the edge of the bedspread back, and pats the sheets twice as if beckoning a timid cat. 

\--

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night there is the tell-tale crack of light on the wall, like a beacon, but when Liselotte holds her breath she can hear nothing. The room is empty when she enters it, but the bed has been turned back and is inviting. She is disturbed later by voices in the connecting chamber, having dozed with her face buried in a pillow that smells of the Chevalier. She has barely sat up when the bedroom doors open and he and Phillipe stumble in, connected at the mouth and at the hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There’s mini spoilers for S3 Eps 1 & 2 but only in so far as Chevalier and Liselotte are buds. Once again, pretty much ignoring most of S3) 
> 
> Liselotte was a relentless letter writer in life. She is known to have referred to Maintenon as ‘the King’s old drab’ and the ‘old whore’. So I feel entitled for Chevalier to call her the same. Also, the book mentioned is a real novel, published in 1675. One theme is how love and marriage are incompatible with each other, which seemed appropriate.
> 
> This got kinda long, but turns out that (attempting) natural threesome progression is damn hard, guys.

‘Don’t leave on my account.’

The room is silent and Liselotte’s heart trembles in her chest. She feels like she just stepped over a line that shouldn’t even exist, but honestly, the protocol around getting into bed with your husband and his lover was not something covered in her childhood education. Eventually Phillipe leans over her to pull the edge of the bedspread back, and pats the sheets twice as if beckoning a timid cat. 

He hesitates, and for a moment Liselotte is genuinely afraid that he will leave. Though part of her wonders if that would be the right thing. The cuckoo in the nest. But, somewhat inexplicably, she finds that she desperately wants him to stay. 

It may be dim in the bedroom but Liselotte can still see the Chevalier roll his eyes in defeat. Turning his back to the bed the dressing gown is discarded, and it is only once he has pulled on a nightgown that he returns to the bed. 

After some discussion it is decided that it would be proper for Phillipe to take the centre spot, and Liselotte is given sole use of one of the pillows. Neither press her for information and she is content just to settle on her side and close her eyes. She is vaguely aware of a kiss being pressed to her forehead, but soon Liselotte is asleep. Comforted by the simple sounds of breathing that aren’t her own. 

\--

She awakes the next morning to find she has burrowed closer to Phillipe, instinctively drawn to his warmth in her dreaming. He is fast asleep on his back like a messiah, framed on the other side by the Chevalier whose arm is thrown over his chest. His curled fingers brush her nightgown, resting just beneath the swell of her breast. Something like goosebumps prickles at the thought.

Liselotte lies still for a time, listening, and feeling a sense of intimacy and calm she has not experienced for a long time. It is only when she hears the sounds of Phillipe’s valet in the other chambers that she moves, sliding herself carefully out of the bed.

She is about to close the passageway door behind her when she notices that the Chevalier has stirred, and he returns the warm smile she flashes him.

–

He retrieves her from her rooms come mid-morning and lets Liselotte take him out into the gardens, with only a slight protest that he is without his cane. Her hand tucks neatly into the crook of the Chevalier’s elbow, and his free hand rests over it. 

‘Did you sleep well?’ It is a nonchalant enough question but Liselotte can detect the concern in his voice. 

‘Like the dead.’ She bumps closer to him for a step and the hand over hers squeezes her fingers lightly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime, my dear. You’re always welcome.’ Her stomach twists itself into a strange knot, but before Liselotte can reply it’s clear the Chevalier has scented blood. She finds herself steered towards Maintenon. ‘Ah, look. There’s the old whore. Let’s go be rude, shall we?’

He does always know how to make her feel better.

–

After dark she stirs restlessly in her bed, with the phrase ‘always welcome’ rolling itself around and around in her head. She is afraid to test the truth of it, but the night ahead of her seems like an endless pit. Though the reality is this was slowly becoming less about little Phillipe, and Liselotte is not quite ready to admit to her own loneliness.

She is almost through the passageway when she hears them. It is a strangely primeval sound and something about it stirs a flicker of heat. Liselotte’s feet move almost of their own volition, as though guided by the warm knot in the pit of her belly. This should be when she leaves, but instead she’s peering through the gap with something that feels decidedly like anticipation. The Chevalier is on his hands and knees, moaning like a wanton, with his legs spread so wide he is almost on his stomach. Phillipe is moving fluidly behind him, wrapped over his back with his face pressed in the space between the Chevalier’s shoulders. 

The warmth radiates from deep within her like a wave, and soon Liselotte is hot all the way down to her toes. It is only when she finds her thighs pressing instinctively together that she retreats, and the slap of Phillipe’s hips against the Chevalier follow her as she goes.

She wonders if this is what he imagined when he shared her bed. 

\--

She worries her bottom lip as she paces her room, circles her bed before finally climbing in and pressing her face down into her pillow. Her hips press down into the sheets, almost instinctively, and Liselotte is ashamed to admit that she wants the friction. Rolling over she stares up into the darkness, and it feels as though her fingers are full of ants. They are under her nightgown in moments. There’s a blur of faces in her mind; one the dark shape of her husband, the other less distinct. She is close when the second takes the shape of the Chevalier, and her toes curl as the orgasm hits her. 

Levelling her breath Liselotte presses a cool pillow over her face and wonders how on earth she will face him come the morning.

–-

When the Chevalier arrives he brings a new classique with him, the latest historical romance from Madame de Villedieu. Liselotte lets him read it aloud to her, and he reclines on the sofa with his head against her voluminous skirts. 

It proves easier than expected, and Liselotte finds herself absently playing with his hair. He’s just gotten to a particularly saucy section featuring the Duc and his mistress when one of her ladies enters. She approaches with a letter for Liselotte, and the Chevalier continues to read aloud, and the poor girl is the colour of communion wine by the time she retreats. Any plans to scold him are forgotten when she takes note of the seal on the reverse, and Liselotte’s fingers tremble as she breaks it. 

The news inside is good, filled with tales of smiles and assurances that teeth are being cut as normal. Liselotte cannot recall the remainder as her eyes have clouded with tears and the Chevalier has plucked it out of her hands. He reads it himself and a reassuring arm is wrapped around her shoulders, and Liselotte finds herself crying into the Chevalier for the second time in as many days. Although this time it is his waistcoat rather than his breeches that bears the onslaught. It always happens like this, when she thinks she has it all under control, and it takes only the tiniest spark to light the touch-paper.

She feels foolish, but he’s patient. The offered handkerchief she uses to dab her eyes smells of Phillipe and she finds that strangely reassuring. 

–

That night there is the tell-tale crack of light on the wall, like a beacon, but when Liselotte holds her breath she can hear nothing. The room is empty when she enters it, but the bed has been turned back and is inviting. She is disturbed later by voices in the connecting chamber, having dozed with her face buried in a pillow that smells of the Chevalier. She has barely sat up when the bedroom doors open and he and Phillipe stumble in, connected at the mouth and at the hip.

It is only once Phillipe has dropped to his knees that the Chevalier notices her. For a moment they simply stare at each other from across the room until a flutter in his expression shows that her husband’s mouth has found it’s mark. ‘P-Phillipe. We have a guest.’

There’s a murmured, wet sound from Phillipe before he turns to look at her and Liselotte can feel her face burning. 

\--

The Chevalier calls for a bath which he takes in the other chamber, and Liselotte finds herself alone with her husband for a time. He has claimed the centre spot in the bed once more, and asks her about the letter she’d received about little Phillipe. 

‘Well, when he’s a little older you can have him brought to Saint-Cloud.’ There’s an implication that this would just be temporary visits, but Liselotte is comforted by the thought anyway. Phillipe rolls some of his nightgown between his fingers. ‘You.. still wish for another child?’

‘Yes.’

‘They would take them as well.’ She knows that, deep down, but she feels a little thrill that Phillipe seems to have softened to the idea. Before she can speak again the Chevalier has returned, already pulling on his nightgown. Almost instinctively Liselotte’s eyes have flicked downwards, seeking a glance at his prick before it disappears under the fabric. She’s mortified with herself, and from the amused expression on Phillipe’s face he has caught her peeking.

‘What are you two smirking about?’ The Chevalier is flushed from the heat of his bath water, and the ends of his hair are still damp. For a horrifying moment she fears her husband is going to rat her out.

‘Babies. About having another.’

‘Oh.’ He’s already pulled back the covers but the Chevalier pauses for a painful moment. Instead of climbing into the bed he straightens and gestures vaguely back towards the door. ‘Is that my cue to leave?’

‘No.’ Phillipe reaches for him and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. ‘I think you should stay. Don’t you agree, Liselotte?’

She doesn’t know what to say to that, and she makes a few soundless shapes with her mouth before the Chevalier comes to her rescue. He’s made it into the bed and is giving Phillipe a reproachful look. ‘Behave, that’s your wife.’

–

Liselotte is writing when the door to her day room opens. She looks up expecting the Chevalier, but instead it is Phillipe who strides in. Her ladies are preparing clothes for the salon in her bedroom, but Phillipe dismisses them and she watches them go with a faintly bemused expression. ‘If I look awful later I’m blaming you.’ 

It’s punctuated with a jab of her quill in his direction, but it doesn’t raise a smile. He’s clearly in one of those moods. She lays her pen aside, blowing softly on the wet ink as she waits patiently for him to spit out whatever he came to say.

‘Another baby. Let’s have one.’

‘What?’ She doesn’t mean to sound quite so incredulous, and she feels almost guilty when Phillipe winces at the laughter in her voice. Almost. Liselotte composes herself. ‘You’re certain?’

‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about our.. plan of action.’ That he is drawing up a battle plan does not fill Liselotte with confidence, but although his expression is pensive Phillipe sounds earnest. She wonders if he’s even noticed that he’s started pacing. There is another silence between them for a time, and once or twice he turns to her as if he’s going to speak, but soon he is simply frowning out of the window.

Liselotte picks up her quill and re-reads her letter to her half-sister, wondering whether it should include this particular conversation or not. It might be worth it just so she can read the reply aloud to the Chevalier later. She’s thoughtfully rubbing the tip of the feather under her nose when Phillipe speaks again. 

‘If you are amenable, the Chevalier will… assist.’

She blinks up at him, uncomprehending. ‘Assist?’

‘With,’ Phillipe gestures vaguely between the two of them and he makes an exasperated sound when she continues to look at him blankly. ‘With it. Us.’

Oh. Oh. Liselotte feels her face go hot and the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant. 

‘Does the colour of your face mean you are amenable?’

She snaps her quill back down to the tabletop, crumples the letter in her hands and throws it at her laughing husband. 

–

Later the Chevalier returns with his book, and he settles into his favoured position of using her as a pillow. Liselotte is cradling a small bowl of pastries in the space left on her lap. They’re tiny, so Liselotte decides they don’t count and her afternoon’s goal is to consume the lot. 

‘Do you think those ruffs got in the way?’ He claps the book shut and rests it on his stomach, folding his hands over it as he awaits a response. 

Liselotte peers down at him, uncomprehending, and eats another pastry. ‘The way of what?’ 

‘Love of course. I imagine a ruff to the face at an intimate moment wouldn’t be particularly romantic.’

She has no answer to give him, so simply shrugs. She might also have eaten another pastry. 

‘You’re terrible at sharing, you know.’

‘You’re one to talk.’ Turns out she’d much rather share her husband than her food, and wonders what that says about her morals. The Chevalier’s still looking up at her, ever hopeful and he reminds her of her step-mother’s lap dog, always begging at the table. Liselotte couldn’t say no to him, either. ‘Fine. Open up.’

She feeds him one of the smaller ones from the bottom of the bowl, and he re-opens the book with a pleased hum. A chapter later and there’s a single pastry remaining, which Liselotte brings to his mouth. Her thumb catches against his bottom lip as he takes it, and his mouth closes around the tip briefly. She looks down to find him watching her, and his teeth close against the bed of her nail. Liselotte feels the colour flushing up her chest.

‘Did Phillipe speak to you this morning?’

‘Yes.’ Her thumb is still pressed against his lip, and she withdraws her hand as far as his shoulder, resting lightly against his hair as Liselotte wrestles for her composure. He’s concentrating on the spine of the book and Liselotte can tell he’s nervous, she fights an overwhelming urge to reach and cover his hands with her own. She decides instead to take a step forward into the abyss. ‘Tonight?’

By now her heart is thumping in her chest to the point she almost feels faint, but there’s a soft smile in the Chevalier’s eyes when he meets her gaze. He nods ever so slightly and takes the hand resting by his shoulder, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he goes back to reading to her. She lets herself relax back into the cushions. His fingertips were warm on her hand, but in her daydream the touch is hot. 

–

She bathes that night and is unusually quiet while her ladies plait her hair. One of them remarks on it and Liselotte invents a headache and dismisses them, finishing the braid herself. She lingers on the edge of her bed until her feet are cold before flopping back onto her bed with a frustrated sigh. There’s a clink as little Phillipe’s rattle slips from her pillow and Liselotte stares at it.

There is no lingering in the passage tonight, and Liselotte feels rather bold as she steps into the room. Phillipe is reclined on the bed and naked, save for his hose, which the Chevalier is currently pulling from his feet. The Chevalier is dressed only in his shirt, which is just long enough to save any blushes, and Liselotte begins to appreciate what she’s let herself in for. 

‘Hello.’ It’s the best she can muster, and she surprises herself with the cheerful tone. But it makes them both smile, though the Chevalier soon turns his face away and begins to kiss a path up the bare thigh under his hands. Phillipe extends a hand to her, and Liselotte goes to him.

‘Hello.’ He kisses her fingers, up to a knuckle and finally the back of her palm. ‘You came.’

‘Of course.’ Liselotte’s gaze flickers to the right, in time to see her husband’s prick disappear into the Chevalier’s mouth. 

‘He’ll take care of you, too. If you want.’ The hand around hers squeezes, and when she tears her eyes away she finds Phillipe’s expression is earnest. She feels it all the way down to her belly. ‘But only if you want.’

Liselotte nods, and Chevalier pulls his mouth off of his lovers cock and he comes to her. His hands go to her nightgown and there’s a pause, in the silence he asks for her permission and soon Liselotte is helping him to pull it over her head. Goosebumps follow the fabric up her back, and as a hand touches her breast she realises this will be the first time Phillipe has even seen them. 

\-- 

It is she who takes the middle spot this time, and the Chevalier helps her into the centre of the bed as Phillipe extinguishes a few choice candles. There’s a comfortable selection of pillows, and Liselotte settles as the Chevalier returns his touch to her breasts. His sleeve and hair trail against her skin as he thumbs a nipple, before his touch is replaced with his mouth. 

He lingers, briefly, but it soon becomes clear that is not his primary goal. There’s a gasp as he brushes a ticklish spot on her side, kisses to the left of her navel and then the same joint of the hip he favoured on Phillipe. 

Liselotte has heard about this. It had always been one of Montespan’s favourite topics and her storytelling had once been the reason that she had struggled to meet the King’s eye for a week. The Chevalier arranges himself carefully, on his knees as he slips his hands under her thighs, creeping towards her backside. A dainty kiss is pressed to the very top of her folds before his tongue draws down the length of her and then back up in one wet, fat stripe. 

‘Oh.’ 

The bed dips behind them, and Liselotte meets her husbands eyes and there’s a cloud to them she’s never seen before, and it makes her insides clench. Then he’s gone, on his back and moving fluidly under his Chevalier with a well-rehearsed precision. She knows the exact moment her husband takes his prick into his mouth as the Chevalier huffs a long breath against her folds that makes her want to die. 

‘Oh.’

That is the only sound Liselotte can conjure for a while as the Chevalier works her over. His tongue barely pressing inside before drawing away, and her hips follow him helplessly. One finger, then two, are added and they curl and press inside of her as his lips close over the tight bundle of her clit. He falters occasionally, breath shuddering, and Liselotte can only imagine what Phillipe is doing that makes him tremble against her. 

The rhythm of his fingers change slightly, and Liselotte can feel the rock of the mattress as his hips follow the pattern. She cannot control her gasps as the orgasm creeps and it takes every ounce of her self control not to fist her fingers into his hair. His thumb is rolling over her clit in way that makes her want to squirm away, but his touch is sure and firm as his fingers work into her. Liselotte cries aloud when it creeps over her, and her fingers pull at the sheets as her chest shudders. 

The Chevalier’s forehead is against her thigh and his breath is hot, and erratic. In moments he’s moaning, a long and low sound and his hips roll downwards for a final time before they still and he comes down her husband’s throat. Lislotte’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch herself, even as the crackles of her own orgasm still flicker all the way down in her toes. 

When Phillipe surfaces he is the picture of dishevelled debauchery, his lips are swollen and his prick is hard as he moves up her body. The Chevalier has regained himself enough to pull Phillipe in for a kiss, fisting his hand around Phillipe’s cock and stroking. He guides Phillipe into her, his other hand stroking over her wet heat just before he seats himself inside. 

She’s still sensitive from her own climax, and each thrust causes a pulse like a firework. Her legs are around his hips almost instinctively and she cannot help but rock up into him. There is an intensity to it that she has not experienced from Phillipe before, and she is in no doubt that Chevalier is the touch-paper. The Chevalier is close to his back, almost guiding his hips and whispering things into his ear that makes Phillipe’s head drop back against his shoulder. 

A hand, she doesn’t know whose, is on her clit and soon she’s overtaken again and can do nothing but gasp helplessly as Phillipe fucks her through it. The Chevalier tongues and bites at his neck, beneath his ear and soon Phillipe is coming. His weight drops down onto her as he rolls his hips up into her once, twice more and she holds him tight to her as his thrusts stutter. He presses a kiss to her collar, then her jaw and her forehead before his weight rolls away.

‘Well, I think I was most helpful.’

Beside her Phillipe laughs, and Liselotte smiles while stretching like a cat. The mattress dips beside her as the Chevalier creeps up Phillipe’s body, and she’s vaguely aware of the sounds of their kiss. Wiggling her toes in satisfaction she turns her cheek into the pillow under her head and is asleep in moments.

–

She stirs a short while later, and she recognises the sound before she’s even fully awake. The bed is empty save for her, and her muscles ache wonderfully as she sits up, turning towards the noise. They’re on a sofa which is creaking dangerously, and Phillipe’s knees are practically by his head. The Chevalier is braced against the sofa’s arm and has reached the point where he is no longer capable of words, only sounds. 

Liselotte watches, unashamed, as her husband gasps and whimpers under him, his hand fisting at the round of the Chevalier’s backside as he’s fucked almost desperately. Each thrust is punctuated by a cry from Phillipe, and she can almost count down to the moment when he comes undone. To her surprise the Chevalier follows almost instantly, and his breath is shuddering out of him when he notices her. A little thrill goes down her spine as she watches the tail of his orgasm ripple over his face.

Phillipe’s foot drops to the floor with a thump and the Chevalier’s breathing is laboured, but Liselotte only gives them a moment before she speaks. ‘Come back to bed, won’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> PS: My tumblr: https://andtheserpentsays.tumblr.com/


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